


I am His and He is Mine

by the north remembers (jaburr)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, Fluff, Half Sibling Incest, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon is king of the north, M/M, Major Character Undeath, Reunion, Robb Lives, Sort Of, Spoilers for Season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 18:03:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18856213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaburr/pseuds/the%20north%20remembers
Summary: I am yours and you are mine. No matter our blood.





	I am His and He is Mine

**Author's Note:**

> i think we all deserve this.. enjoy. also, major spoilers for season 8 concerning Jon.

Jon didn’t want to be the king of anything. He never had, was always happy to pass that position unto Robb. The Stark golden boy, with his kind eyes and soft heart and gentle leadership. Jon watched him with Arya, scooping her up when Catelyn had enough of her playing at the feasts, tickling her as he carried her off to bed. Robb should be King, and Jon had decided that for himself at a young age. Not that he’d ever had the idea form in his mind that he could one day, be king. It’s funny, the way events unfolded. Robb had always told him he’d be a good, fair leader.

“I’d bend the knee if they crowned you King of the North, you know.” Robb had told him one day, kicking off his boots and socks at the banks of the springs.

The night was cool and Jon was simultaneously sweating, mirroring Robb as he disrobed.

Jon had laughed at him until Robb had swung at him. “I could never be king, I’m a bastard. The closest thing I’ll ever have to a title would be a place in the Night's Watch.”

“You shouldn’t join up, you’re not a _criminal_ , Jon. You deserve the chance to marry, to have children.” Robb sounded sorrowful, peeled off his breeches and shirt and stepped into the pool. He was beautiful, Jon had thought, in a way only he could be. His hair shone under the setting sun, brilliant red like wildfire.

“I know I’m not a criminal, but I don’t belong here. Lady Catelyn could barely withhold her glee when Father told her the news.” Jon joins him in the water, rotating his sore shoulders underneath the clear ripples. Robb just looks at him then, softly, treading water.

“I’ll miss you, you know.”

“I’ll miss you too. I’ll send a raven whenever I can.”

“It won’t be the same.” Robb says pointedly, dipping his head back into the water. Jon pushes off of the rock he’s leaning against, swims up to Robb where he’s still treading water.

“Robb,” Jon ran his finger across his high cheekbone, laid it to rest on his jaw. He didn’t feel himself moving in, naked skin against naked skin. He’d expected Robb to react like a spooked horse, jump back and he would play it off as affections between brothers. Robb hadn’t moved though, he’d just kept treading, Jon’s hand anchored to his face, pupils blown.

“Are you going to kiss me, Snow?” Robb tries his hand at confidence, voice raspy and uncertain.

So Jon had kissed him, tangled one hair in Robb’s curls and the other pushed at the water to keep them both afloat. They’d kissed for what felt like years that night, Robb pressed against the cool rocks of the pool and Jon on top of him, mapping the soft expanse of Robb’s pretty neck with his mouth.

He’d gone to the wall shortly thereafter, less than a fortnight. Yet he’d spent every night with Robb, whenever he could steal him away from his duties as Heir. The wall was cold and unforgiving and he longed for Robb’s touch, his warmth. He sent ravens when he could, and Robb always replied, telling him of little Arya becoming quite the archer and Sansa wanting to marry Joffrey Baratheon, and Bran had finally woken. Jon missed them. The ravens became infrequent, after word traveled that Ned Stark had been executed. Jon wept bitterly when he was told of the news, the other men watching him quizzically. He didn’t care. He didn’t cry when a raven was sent informing him that his brother was killed on the battlefield.

“So the great wolf was _beaten_ , eh?” One of the men had scoffed during a meal, and Jon had beat him bloody in an instant. Red hot rage overtook him, how dare they talk about Robb like that, they didn’t know him. Nobody had pulled him off either, as he threw punch after punch. It was only after the man’s face was a mass of flesh and blood that Jon had quit, chest heaving. They’d all looked at him, wary, the wild lone wolf. Sam had taken him to see the Maester, and the man who had spoken ill of _his_ Robb never woke. They elected Jon commander of the Night’s Watch, the highest title a bastard could hope for, Jon supposed. As much as he had claimed he didn’t want it, it had felt good, to have the respect of his men. They fought valiantly for him, every last one, taken Winterfell at his back.

“Jon Snow, Commander of the Night’s Watch, King of the North!” He’d fought that title too, until he didn’t anymore. So there he was, bloody King of the North. He wished he could tell Robb his stories of battle, knew exactly how he’d react when he saw the scar cutting across Jon’s brow. He’d opted for telling Arya his tales, as she listened idly, picking her fingernails with her knife. She’d seen as much death as he had, she told him, and they shared that. Jon tried his best to lead, the way Ned always did. Bran could see things now, past and future, and Jon couldn’t understand it. Jon wasn’t truly a bastard, Bran had told him. He wished Catelyn could’ve known that. He wished he would have spoken to his father about it, learned that when he’d decided he never wanted to be king of anything or anyone he was destined for it. He was the last Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne, yet he stayed North, the Stark Sigil flapping on the banners. He was sparring in the yard with Arya when Sam had come running to him, Gilly close behind as she often was.

“Jon, I have news. There’s a man here, claiming to be your brother, but there’s no-.”

“Robb’s alive?” Arya interrupted, had dropped Needle into the snow, hopeful. Jon just stared at Sam, mouth dry.

“Where is he? This man claiming to be our broth- Robb.” Jon’s heart was beating wildly, hard against his chest. Gods be good.

“He’s inside, with Sansa.” Sam crooked his fingers towards the watch deck, and Jon ran, taking the rickety stairs two at a time. His breath is in his throat, as he stares at the man standing across from Sansa. He’s gaunt, and pale and yet beneath the grime Jon knows.

“I told you you’d be fucking King, didn’t I?” The man rasps, coughing lightly, and Jon doesn’t even hesitate, runs to him and scoops him off his feet. Robb wheezes as Jon holds him, frantically pawing at him.

He’s crying, the tears are hot and heavy against his face. “Gods. God’s you’re alive. Robb I missed you.” Jon lets him go, holds him at length. Arya cuts between them, hugs Robb tightly and Sansa stares at Jon intently. The four of them stand there, cheeks streaked with tears. Jon doesn’t know for how long. He has so many questions for Robb, but he can’t speak, he’s just overcome.

“Come on, Robb, let's get you cleaned up.” Sanasa tells him, ushers him away and Jon follows them like a lost pup. She frets over him like a mother hen all the way to the washroom, the tub already drawn.

“Jon, stay with him, will you?” Sansa asks of him gently, in her way. He nods mutely, staring at Robb and she slips out the door. It’s barely closed behind her and Jon is upon Robb, kissing his dirt streaked face.

“Let me bathe before you kiss all the filth away, gods!” Robb laughs, frantically trying to slot Jon’s mouth against his own, hands buried in his curls. Jon takes a moment to breathe, steps back to help Robb undress. He gingerly pulls his shirt over his head, wincing, and Jon sees the way his ribs are poking out against his skin, his torso bloody.

“Who did this to you?” Jon’s voice drops to a low growl, and Robb just touches his face, gentle and calm.

“Doesn’t matter, they’re dead now and I’m home, with you. And in desperate need of a bath.” Robb kisses him softly again, undoes his breeches and Jon steadies him as he shakily sits in the water. Jon plops down onto the stone floor by the lip of the basin, runs his fingers through Robb’s matted hair and sighs deeply. “There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?” Robb blurts, worrying his bottom lip under his teeth.

“No.” Jon lies, moves his hand to rub circles over Robb’s back. Robb glares at him, boring holes into his eyes with just a look, and it reminds Jon of how Catelyn used to glare at them when they’d come back dirty and torn up from sparring late in the yard. Robb truly is his mother’s child.

“Tell me. Did you go off and marry someone, is that it?”

“No, Robb, it’s just, I have recently learned about my parentage, and I- I am Rhaegar Targaryen’s son.” He can’t meet his blue eyes, opts to stare blankly down at the floor. Robb arches into the hand on his back until Jon finally looks at him.

“You’re still Jon, aren’t you? You’re still my Jon, and that’s all that matters. I am yours and you are mine. No matter our blood.” He says, soft. Jon surges then, splashing water out of the tub as he kisses Robb, petting his hair and cupping his nape. Robb whines as Jon bites at his bottom lip, nipping down to lick and suck at the junction of his jaw and neck.

“I love you, Robb Stark.” Jon mouths against his hot skin, water soaking into his tunic. Robb yanks him closer by his shirt, kisses him harder, making up for lost time, needy and insistent.

“And I you, Jon Snow.” Robb smiles, presses his nose up against Jon’s and then pulls back, frowning.

“What the bloody hell happened to your face!” Robb nearly shouts, and Jon knows he shouldn’t laugh, but he can’t help it, it bubbles up into his throat until he’s laughing so hard he nearly falls back onto the stone floor.

“War happened, I went to war, to save our family.” Jon gasps out, it’s really not funny, he knows, and Robb just looks at him, starts to laugh too until they’re both gasping for air.

Jon doesn’t know that he’s ever been happier than he is, in this very moment. Robb is starting to put on weight, it’s been well over a month since he’d come home and they’d somehow convinced Sansa that it was perfectly normal that they share quarters, after all, Robb was now Hand to the King of the North, and _that made it all right_. She surely saw right through them, Jon knew. He didn’t care. How could he? He was the bloody King. The sun was breaking through the thick curtains, casting a light glow down upon the bed and glaring right into Jon’s eyes, down upon Robb curled up on his chest. He’s beautiful, Jon thinks, shifts to settle on an elbow and sighs. Ghost stirs by the door, keeping watch carefully over them both. He blinks languidly, as if he too is observing Robb’s presence, then rests his head down between his paws. Jon knows he’ll be on his feet in a moment to protect them, and it’s a comfort.

“How long have you been awake?” Robb mutters, voice scratchy from sleep. He’s smiling softly up at Jon, and his heart stops for a moment.

“Long enough.” Jon kisses him then, soft like the sun sneaking it’s way across the furs. Robb smiles against his mouth, Tully blue eyes flashing bright.

“Love you, Jon.” He mutters, settling down against his chest again, yawning, Jon cards his fingers through Robb’s hair, the way he loves so much, Jon knows. He knows he should probably get up, the people will be stirring soon, and he’s their King. He should be out in the yard with Arya, making his rounds of Winterfell. He looks down at Robb, who is asleep again, snoring softly, and Jon has missed him, missed this, and Winterfell can wait. Now his duty is to protect the man sleeping next to him.

“Love you, Robb.” Jon whispers against his sun streaked curls. He scrunches down underneath the furs and lets the sound of Robb’s breath lull him to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, comments, feedback and prompts are welcomed & very much appreciated. thank you for reading!


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